It was true. Molly had painted her closets, pasted photos in albums, cleaned out files, and groomed her sleepy poodle. She did everything but work on the revisions she'd finally been forced to agree to do because she needed the rest of her advance money.
Helen wanted some dialogue changed in Daphne Takes a Tumble as well as three new drawings. Two would show Daphne and Melissa standing farther apart, and in the third, Benny and his friends were to be eating cheese sandwiches instead of hot dogs. Everyone had scoured Daphne with the most lascivious of adult minds. Helen had also asked Molly to make changes in the text of two older Daphne books that were going back to press. But Molly had done none of it, not out of principle, although she wished that were the case, but because she couldn't concentrate.
Her friend Janine, who was still stung over SKIFSA'S condemnation of her own book, was upset that Molly hadn't told Birdcage to go to hell, but Janine had a husband who made their mortgage payment every month.
"The kids miss you," Phoebe said.
"I'll call them tonight. I promise."
She did call them, and she managed to do all right with the twins and Andrew. But Hannah broke her heart.
"It's because of me, isn't it, Aunt Molly?" she whispered. "That's why you don't want to come over anymore. It's because the last time you were here, I said I was sad that your baby died."
"Oh, sweetheart…"
"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to talk about the baby. I promise, I won't ever, ever say anything again."
"You didn't do anything wrong, love. I'll come over this weekend. We'll have a great time."
But the trip only made her feel worse. She hated being responsible for the worry that clouded Phoebe's face, and she couldn't bear the soft, considerate way Dan spoke to her, as if he were afraid she would shatter. Being with the children was even more painful. As they looped their arms around her waist and demanded she come with them to see their newest projects, she could barely breathe.
The family was tearing her apart with their love. She left as soon as she could.
May slid into June. Molly sat down a dozen times to work on the drawings, but her normally agile pen refused to move. She tried to come up with an idea for a Chik article, but her mind was as empty as her bank account. She could make her mortgage payments through July, but that was all.
As one June day slipped into the next, little things began to get away from her. One of her neighbors set a sack of mail he'd pulled from her overflowing mailbox outside her door. Her laundry piled up, and dust settled over her normally tidy condo. She got a cold and had trouble shaking it off.
One Friday morning her head ached so badly she called in sick for her volunteer tutoring and went to bed. Other than dragging herself outside long enough for Roo to do his business and occasionally forcing down a piece of toast, she slept all weekend.
When Monday came, her headache was gone, but the aftereffects of the cold had sapped her energy, so she phoned in sick again. Her bread box was empty, and she was out of cereal. She found some canned fruit in the cupboard.
On Tuesday morning as she dozed in bed, her sleep was disturbed by the buzzer from the lobby. Roo hopped to attention. Molly burrowed deeper into her covers, but just when she was falling back asleep, someone began pounding on her door. She pulled a pillow over her head, but it didn't block out the deep, familiar voice clearly audible over the sound of Roo's yips.
"Open up! I know you're in there!"
That awful Kevin Tucker.
She sneezed and stuck her fingers in her ears, but Roo kept barking and Kevin kept banging. Miserable dog. Reckless, scary quarterback. Everyone in the building was going to complain. Cursing, she dragged herself out of bed.
"What do you want?" Her voice sounded creaky from lack of use.
"I want you to open the door."
"Why?"
"Because I need to talk to you."
"I don't want to talk." She grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.
"Tough. Unless you'd like everyone in this building to know your private business, I suggest you open up."
Reluctantly, she flipped the lock. As she opened the door, she wished she were armed.
Kevin stood on the other side, dazzling and perfect with his healthy body, gleaming blond hair, and blazing green eyes. Her head pounded. She wanted to hide behind dark glasses.
He pushed his way past her snarling poodle and shut the door. "You look like hell."
She stumbled over to the couch. "Roo, be quiet."
The dog gave Molly an offended sniff as she lay down.
"Have you seen a doctor?"
"I don't need a doctor. My cold is almost gone."
"How about a shrink?" He walked over to the windows and began opening them.
"Stop that." It was bad enough that she had to endure his arrogance and the threatening glare of his good looks. She didn't have to tolerate fresh air, too. "Will you go away?"
As he gazed around at her condo, she noticed the dirty dishes littering the kitchen counter, the bathrobe hanging over the end of the couch, and the dusty tabletops. He was an uninvited guest, and she didn't care.
"You blew off the appointment with the attorney yesterday."
"What appointment?" She shoved a hand into her ratty hair, then winced as it caught on a snarl. Half an hour ago she'd stumbled into the bathroom to brush her teeth, but she couldn't remember taking a shower. And her shabby gray Northwestern nightshirt smelled like poodle.
"The annulment?" He glanced toward the pile of unopened mail spilling out of the white Crate & Barrel shopping bag next to the door and said sarcastically, "I guess you didn't get the letter."
"I guess. You'd better leave. I might still be contagious."
"I'll take my chances." He wandered over to the windows and gazed down at the parking lot. "Nice view."
She closed her eyes to sneak in a nap.
Kevin didn't think he'd ever seen anyone more pathetic. This pasty-faced, stringy-haired, musty-smelling, sniffling, sad-eyed female was his wife. Hard to believe she was the daughter of a showgirl. He should have let his attorney take care of this, but he kept seeing the raw desperation in her eyes when she'd begged him to hold her legs together, as if brute strength alone could keep that baby inside her.
I know you hate me, but…
He couldn't quite hate her any longer, not after he'd watched her fruitless struggle to hold on to that baby. But he did hate the way he felt, as if he had some sort of responsibility for her. Training camp started in less than two months. He needed to be focusing all his energy on getting ready for next season. He gazed at her resentfully.
You have to set an example, Kevin. Do the right thing.
He moved away from the windows and stepped over her worthless, pampered dog. Why did someone with her millions live in such a small place? Convenience, maybe. She probably had at least three other addresses, all of them in warm climates.
He sank down on the sectional couch at the opposite end from where she was lying and studied her critically. She must have dropped ten pounds since the miscarriage. Her hair had grown longer, nearly to her jawline, and it had lost that silky sheen he remembered from their wedding day. She hadn't bothered with makeup, and the deep bruises under those exotic eyes made her look as if she'd been somebody's punching bag.
"I had an interesting conversation with one of your neighbors."
She settled her wrist over her eyes. "I promise I'll call your attorney first thing in the morning if you'll just leave."
"The guy recognized me right away."
"Of course he did."
She wasn't too tired for sarcasm, he noticed. His resentment simmered.
"He was more than happy to gossip about you. Apparently you stopped emptying your mailbox a few weeks ago."
"Nobody sends me anything interesting."
"And the only time you've left your apartment since Thursday night is to take out your pit bull."